


Mark Your Calendars

by saintscully



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Idiots to lovers is more accurate, M/M, Podfic Available, Post-Canon, Sherlock Holmes pulls a Leslie Knope, just a small fluffy thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:47:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26986978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintscully/pseuds/saintscully
Summary: John happens upon a box full of Sherlock’s old yearly planners.-Now also available inpodfic format!
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 57
Kudos: 341
Collections: Sherlock and John Stories that Ease the Soul





	Mark Your Calendars

**Author's Note:**

> This is an entry to [October 2020's Sherlock Challenge](https://sherlockchallenge.tumblr.com/post/630771202909175808/hello-and-welcome-to-octobers-sherlock-challenge), prompt word 'Calendar'.
> 
> It's a silly little fluffy thing - not exactly stellar writing, but I needed a distraction while working on a more massive, angsty story.
> 
>  **English as a second language** : While this story was betad, English isn’t my first language and I sometimes make edits post-beta. You shouldn’t find any glaring mistakes but if you do I hope that doesn’t prevent you from reading this story.
> 
> **Thank you to my wonderful beta,[imagesymboltext](https://imagesymboltext.tumblr.com/)!**
> 
> Tumblr: I am [therealsaintscully](http://therealsaintscully.tumblr.com) on Tumblr and [saintscully2](https://twitter.com/saintscully2) on Twitter. Come say hi.

“ _ Oh, John. _ ” Mrs. Hudson sighs in despair when he takes the unexpected call, staring at a wall full of snacks at Tesco. “I’m so sorry to bother you at work, dear.”

“Already done with work for today, actually.” He says and leaves the snacks aisle behind. “Everything alright, Mrs. Hudson?”

“I’m alright, I just wasn’t sure what to do.” She says urgently. “I’ve had a contractor working in the basement flat all day here. I’ve had a leak, and he’s been searching for the source.”

“Alright.” John says, his attention finally fully on the elderly lady on the other side of the line.

“And then he hit a spot and now the entire place flooded, it’s dreadful.”

“Oh my.” 

“The place is full of Sherlock’s stuff.” She says, tutting. John nods, remembering how he helped Sherlock move them there last year. It was supposed to be a temporary storage solution, but time just flew by somehow. “Boxes and boxes, and they’re getting wet. They’re too heavy for me to carry and I can’t find Sherlock.”

“I’m on my way.” John says as he steps towards the cashiers.

“Oh, really?” She sighs again, relieved.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Oh, but what about Rosie?” She asks.

“She’s with her minder.” John says. “I’ll ask her to stay another hour or two. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Oh, bless you, dear.”

“See you soon.”

* * *

Half an hour later finds John in the kitchen, carrying the last box inside with a grunt. He’s not as young as he used to be, and Sherlock’s stuff really accumulates.

Mrs. Hudson was so thankful for his help, he found a full spread waiting for him by the time he arrived - tea, biscuits, a sandwich. Food has always been her way of saying thank you.

“Where’s His Majesty?” He asks as she lays the tray down.

“Don’t know.” Mrs. Hudson says and shrugs. “I don’t think he’s been in since last night.”

“Right.” He says, putting his hands on his hips, hoping his discomfort isn’t showing. 

Sherlock’s been doing this recently, disappearing for days on end. They’re still recovering from the events of the past year, and they’re not back to their old, carefree friendship just yet. John knows he doesn’t have a right to know where Sherlock’s been spending his nights, but it still makes him uncomfortable.

He takes a sip of the tea and looks around, doing a quick assessment. He’d brought up all eight boxes. They’re soaking wet at the bottom, but most of them seem salvageable enough.

His eyes, scanning the contents of the boxes in a way he didn’t really do when they moved those boxes to the basement, rest on an article he remembers years ago - a newspaper article about Sherlock’s successful solve of the Reichenbach Falls case. He picks it up and reads it, a bittersweet smile on his face as memories from that time float up. These were some of their best, the days before the fall. He misses those days dearly.

He shuffles through the rest of the boxes. News articles, case notes, photographs and books that Sherlock must have been reading while solving these cases, going back to the time before they’d even met each other.

By the time he’s done with his sandwich, he comes across a box he’d stuffed in the corner. Its content appears to be different. It takes him a few seconds to recognize some of his own belongings. Old bedding, a pair of trainers, an old T-shirt. Things he’d left behind throughout the years; either after Sherlock’s jump or after Sherlock had fully healed from his bullet wound. It all seems familiar enough, except for the journals. Yearly planners, going almost a decade back. Some of them date back to the days before they’ve known each other, filled with Sherlock’s notes in his handwriting.

He opens the 2010 yearly planner. His throat clenches in excitement, wondering whether he’ll find anything related to him in it. There’s nothing in January or February - why would there be? This isn’t a diary and Sherlock isn’t a swooning teenager. A few pages in, though, around spring, a note appears on April 23rd; ‘J’s birthday’. 

John shakes his head, surprised. He had no idea Sherlock knew of his birthday back then. He never acknowledged it. He flips through the pages to find more notes on dates he himself knows by heart. ‘Jo W’s passing anniversary’ on the day of his mother’s passing, ‘Jo W’s birthday’ marking her birthday, ‘H W’s passing anniversary’ on the day of his father’s. ‘Return to London’ on the day of his release from the army after his injury.

He stares at the pages, unseeing. 

So Sherlock knew about these dates, somehow, and said nothing. Did John mention them? He must have had. Sherlock is nosy, but it’s hard to believe he’d have any interest in his parents’ birthdays.

He sighs and grabs the 2011 planner. He finds the same dates marked in this one, but this time Harry’s birthday is noted, as well. John remembers his own birthday that year, remembers it well. Sherlock knew about it but never showed up to the pub ’do John succumbed to when Greg insisted on one.

John was disappointed. Upset, even, at the thought Sherlock had something better to do than celebrate one of the few things John Watson had to celebrate in his life back then.

He swallows when he realizes there are no journals for 2012 and 2013, but there is one for 2014. John’s mind suddenly goes back to the day of his mother’s passing that year. Sherlock called him the night before and asked him to join him on a case, but cancelled that morning. 

John had thought Sherlock must have solved the case overnight, but later discovered Sherlock worked on it for the rest of that week. This was weeks before the wedding, and they got swept up with the stag night and everything that came afterwards, so he never really gave it another moment of thought.

* * *

Sherlock takes the steps to 221b two at a time, stopping in his tracks just before tripping on the boxes.

“What's-” Sherlock blurts as he grabs the wall to balance himself.

“The basement floor flooded.” John says and tilts his head towards the stairs. “Mrs. Hudson couldn’t reach you, so she called me instead.”

“Oh.” Sherlock says, his eyes scanning the room. “Thank you.”

“Hmm.” John hums and shrugs. “Did my best. Reckon most of it is salvageable.”

“Honestly, most of this is useless by now.” Sherlock says and starts browsing through the boxes as he speaks, picking one item up, then another.

“I’ve been going over them.” John smiles tightly as Sherlock shows him an evidence photo from the case they solved for Sebastian Wilkes.

He watches as Sherlock browses through the boxes without a word; snorts at one article, smiles at another.

“Where have you been?” John asks, unable to stop himself from prying. ”Mrs. Hudson says you’ve been out for the night.”

“Working.” Sherlock sits on the floor, peeling his coat off and throws it carelessly on the kitchen table.

“Oh.” He nods and clears his throat. “Anything interesting?”

“Not really.” Sherlock shakes his head and points at the box closest to John. “What have you got there?”

“Some of my old stuff.” He shows him a t-shirt. “And these.” John continues and holds the yearly planners up.

“Oh, that’s where these are.” Sherlock nods and grabs a book from another box, unperturbed. 

“What are they, Sherlock?”

Sherlock narrows his eyes in a condescending side glance. “Surely you can make that out yourself. It says ‘Yearly Planner’ on the cover.”

“No, I mean. Some dates here…” John says and flips through the pages. “Mum’s birthday. Dad’s passing.”

Sherlock freezes and looks away. “Yes.” He says, moving another box around. “Was that a question?” He asks with a tense, bashful smile.

“I remember this birthday.” John shows him the 2011 planner. “You never showed up. And Remembrance Day in 2014, I invited you to come to the service in Regent’s Park with me and you never showed up either.”

“John-”

“And the anniversary of my injury in 2014, too. You were gone all weekend. All these dates you have marked here, Sherlock… why?”

Sherlock squirms on the floor. “So I don’t forget.”

John frowns. “Don’t forget what?”

“To, er…” Sherlock stands up and shuffles his legs, uncomfortable. “I believe the colloquial term is ‘ _ give you some space. _ ’”

John’s brows furrow. “What?” 

“These dates, they mean something to you.” Sherlock explains.

“Right. And?”

“And… they make you emotionally...” He stops for barely a second to consider his words. “Compromised.”

“So?”

“So.”

“So you…” John finally catches on. “You’ve made yourself disappear because I was sad?”

“Essentially.”

John blinks for a moment, speechless.

“For you.” Sherlock clarifies, sensing the mood in the room just changed drastically.

“On my birthdays, too?” John asks. “I don’t get…  _ ‘emotionally compromised’ _ on my birthdays.”

“You most certainly do.” Sherlock huffs. “Your birthdays are the worst, as mood swings go. You’re always worried you’re getting too old.”

John chuckles, but it’s a sad thing. The realization of what Sherlock’s been doing for years hits him hard, and his face must show how he feels.

“Where do you go when these…” He starts and looks down.

“Barts.” Sherlock shrugs nervously. “Regent’s Park. Pestering Lestrade sometimes.”

He looks up at Sherlock with a sad, disbelieving smile. “Just passing the time?”

Sherlock’s lips twist uncomfortably.

“Has it…” John says, clearing his throat. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I wanted you there with me?”

“I-” It’s Sherlock who blinks now, taken by surprise with John’s words. 

“That maybe I could have used my best friend with me to go through these...” John says and points at the journals, unable to finish the sentence.

Speechless, Sherlock stares back at him. After a beat, he shakes his head.

“Well, I did.” John exhales loudly. “I hope I never gave you the feeling that this was something I wanted.”

“No.” Sherlock shakes his head. “I just assumed. I’m not the best company for… you know.”

“For a tumbler of whisky and sitting on my ass staring at the fire?” John asks. “We do that every other night.”

They stare at each for a long moment. Mrs. Hudson, upon hearing Sherlock is back, breaks the silence. She knocks on the door and, unaware she’d just encroached on something, promptly makes some more tea.

* * *

John creaks his neck as he stands and re-purposes one box into a ‘THROW’ box, now that it’s established some items must go.

He leans to pick up his old trainers when he hears the sound from Sherlock’s room.

**_AHHHHHHH!_ ** The phone moans, and John’s heart constricts with an uncontrolled mixture of anger and jealousy.

Sherlock doesn’t move from his place on the floor. 

“You’ve got a text.” John says pointedly, wondering if Sherlock had caught the hint of bitterness in it.

“Hmmm.” 

“Still not answering her?” John asks, his voice tight.

It’s John’s phone turn to ping now. He sighs as he looks at it, reading the text. “Have to go.” He says, resigned. “Rosie’s minder has to go home.”

* * *

There’s a knock on John’s door a week later, catching him by surprise as he’s washing the dishes. It’s his evening ritual, right after he puts Rosie to sleep.

He finds Sherlock Holmes there, holding a big box.

“I thought perhaps you’d like to catch up.” Sherlock says as he puts the box down with a grunt. 

“On?” John frowns.

“Birthdays. Anniversaries. Memorials Days. Holidays.” Sherlock says as John spots several whisky bottles and a small, plastic Christmas tree. 

John looks at Sherlock, his smile soft. “Sure.” He nods, surprised by this unexpected gesture. “I’ll just… finish up.” He says and points at the kitchen apologetically.

“Take your time.”

* * *

When John steps back into the sitting room, the fire is roaring, warming it up. The room is decorated hastily but amusingly, with odd looking nick-knacks. There’s the Christmas tree, a Halloween skeleton, some Easter decorations over the mantel and a birthday cake on the table.

John stands, surveys the room, and laughs.

He laughs and laughs, watching Sherlock staring back with amusement. “Sherlock…” He says, wiping his eyes with a tear his laughter brought on.

“Good?” Sherlock’s lips twist for a split second, unsure. 

John laughs some more and nods. “Very good.” He says as he takes the proffered tumbler of whisky.

* * *

“And I'm thinking…” John laughs, a full belly laugh. His wine glass nearly tips over, nearly spilling over Sherlock’s lap. “I’m thinking -  _ what is that siren I hear getting louder _ ?”

“ _ Oh, no _ .” Sherlock chuckles, his voice low and cozy under the influence of far too much alcohol. “Who called the police?”

“It wasn't the cops, it was the fire department!” John giggles. “Jamie set the entire floor on fire. Thank god he took the blame for it when we were back in Bastion from that R&R. Ended up serving time there before…”

John clears his throat, the memories sobering him up. “He was a good chap. That wound wasn’t even that bad. Just… bad luck, I suppose.”

“I’m sure he was.” Sherlock half-whispers as he takes another sip, emptying his glass. John offers some more wine and Sherlock nods in agreement.

“Yeah.” John shrugs half-heatedly, the memories of the last time he saw Jamie alive and laughing still swirling through his head. “That’s Afghanistan for you.”

“Hmmm.” Sherlock hums in agreement.

Now somewhat sobered up, John turns to look at Sherlock. His mind swims with high levels of alcohol.

“This is nice.” He says as he leans back against the sofa, his stomach warming comfortably at the sight of Sherlock’s red cheeks. He nudges Sherlock’s knee with his own.

“Yes.” Sherlock agrees as he takes yet another sip, avoiding John’s eyes.

“Haven’t seen you this drunk since you had a piece of Rizla paper stuck to your forehead.” John says, moving his head slightly closer to Sherlock’s shoulder. “You suck at Rizla.”

Sherlock snorts. “ _ I _ suck at Rizla?”

“You were terrible!” John giggles, searching for Sherlock’s eyes. “You were.”

Sherlock steals a glance at him, and John can only imagine how flustered - besotted, really, he must look. “Fine. I’ll concede, if that makes you happy.”

“It does.” He nods and feels his hand moving - out of its own drunken volition, it seems - and squeezing Sherlock’s knee. “It really, really does.”

Sherlock smiles back, staring at John’s hand on his knee.

“Do you hate this?” John asks softly and points at the room with his other hand, at the proof of Sherlock’s kind heart. “Is all this… uncomfortable for you?”

“No.” Sherlock shakes his head. “No, I don’t.”

“Then why…” John sighs, overly emotional because of the alcohol. “That you’d make yourself dispensable, Sherlock-”

“I, er..” Sherlock starts. “I miscalculated, John-”

“When you’re the only person I ever really wanted to-”

“I’m sorry, John.” Sherlock says and squeezes John’s hand as it rests on his knee. “I’m sorry.”

“You always _miscalculate_.” John sighs, hating the word. “If you’d only stop calculating for once and just...”

He closes his eyes and looks away, frustrated.

“John.” Sherlock says and squeezes his knee again.

John looks up and finds Sherlock’s eyes, blue or green or gray - it doesn’t matter - soft and welcoming.  It takes his breath away, and it’s all John needs to make a decision.

The kiss is hesitant; the angle awkward. It’s only a brush of lips to the side of Sherlock’s lips, enough to track back if Sherlock resists - but he doesn’t. Instead, Sherlock closes his eyes and squeezes John’s hand again.

John twists a little more and sends one arm over Sherlock’s shoulders. He kisses him properly this time. He raises his other hand to Sherlock’s jaw and brings his face closer still, brushing his cheekbone gently with his thumb.

“More?” He asks and breathes in again, filling a lungful with the mixture of Sherlock’s breath tinged with wine and chocolatey birthday cake.

“Yes.” Sherlock whispers, his eyes closed with anticipation.

John licks Sherlock’s mouth open slowly, gently. Twisting his body more fully now, he covers Sherlock’s body, nudging him to lay more comfortably across the sofa. He reaches a hand to grab Sherlock’s wine glass, but the man is so nervous he won’t let the thing go.

“How attached are you to that glass?” John whispers in Sherlock's ear, who opens his eyes, surprised.

John smiles back and nudges at the glass. “Let it go.” He says and finally removes it from his hands.

Finally free to enjoy this full access to the Sherlock’s body, he covers him from head to toe. He’s head is dizzy when the other man snuggles closely into him, humming with excitement when John’s tongue laps at his earlobe.

“This is- ah!” Sherlock starts. “An unexpected turn of-”

“Shh.” John says as he showers a pulse point with some much needed attention. 

“-events.” Sherlock moans, his hips thrusting up gently.

“Hmm.” John hums approvingly, answering Sherlock’s thrust with his own. “Could have had this on my birthday that first year, imagine that.”

“D’you think so?” Sherlock asks breathlessly, gripping John’s waist tightly.

“If only you hadn't given me  _ some space _ .” John growls, nudging Sherlock’s knees apart gently.

“Is that really all it takes, John?” Sherlock chuckles as John giggles and nods. “Some wine and-”

“-And you, and-”

**_AHHHHHHH!_ **

The text stops them both mid kiss, their bodies frozen. John lowers his head to Sherlock’s neck in defeat, fighting to hold his anger at bay.

“John.” Sherlock says urgently, sharply, too afraid to move. “John, ignore that.”

John clears his throat loudly, purposefully. Sherlock feels John moving away, so he grabs onto his waist. “Don’t go.” He says, but John is back to a sitting position, swaying slightly as the reminder of The Woman’s existence creeps brutally into his drunken brain.

“Right.” John mumbles, scanning his surroundings with no real purpose in mind. “Right.”

“John…” Sherlock mirrors John and moves into a sitting position. “It’s… it’s nothing. It’s just a text.”

“Is it, though?” John asks, bitter. 

“Yes.” Sherlock says, determined. “It’s nonsense, she writes absolutely nonsense. And the sound, it’s just-”

“Then why don’t you change it, at least? Or...” John looks straight at him. 

“I tried. I can’t. It’s programmed into the sim card.” 

John rolls his eyes in disbelief. “Please.”

Sherlock grabs his phone, looks at it with a vengeful glance. He opens the back of the case, pulling the battery out.

“What are you doing?” John asks, his eyes following Sherlock as he moves.

“I’ll just have to buy a new one.” Sherlock says and, with a nod, throws the phone into the fire.

John looks up at him, shocked, then looks at the phone burning in the fire. After a moment of staring at the damn thing slowly melting away, he turns to look at Sherlock, a small incredulous laughter escaping him.

“Seriously?” John asks.

“Never been more serious in my entire life.” Sherlock nods, determined. He walks over to John and looks down at him, his eyes piercing. “Now, where were we?”

**Author's Note:**

> Do not, I repeat, do not throw your cellphones into the fire.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Mark Your Calendars [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29291898) by [johnlockypodfics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnlockypodfics/pseuds/johnlockypodfics)




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